


beyond what we were made for

by Addison R (beyond_belief)



Category: Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 01:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Addison%20R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven days in space after LV-223.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beyond what we were made for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tibididim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tibididim/gifts).



Slowly and painstakingly, she fixes David.

She doesn't start right away, but David doesn't seem to mind. There are other things she has to attend to first: the ship and how to stay alive on it, the ship and what's all on it, the ship and how to fly it. 

David takes care of most of the flying. He explains to her, of course, how to pilot the ship; in careful, precise terms he lays out exactly what she must to do make the behemoth go where she wants. The star maps are easy enough to understand, once she gets the hang of reading them. 

There's a pack of rations and a toolkit in the back of the utility buggy that remains from the Prometheus. Adding what she'd managed to grab from Vickers' lifeboat, the rations are enough to last one person a month, longer if she's careful with them. She holds the toolkit up for David to see. "That should be sufficient, Dr. Shaw," he says.

"When I'm ready."

"Of course."

There is an instruction book with the toolkit. She slides it out, begins to read through it. Apparently what David means by _sufficient_ is that the kit contains the complete means to repair all of his damage - with the exception of human-looking skin - and without as much time on her part as she'd been anticipating.

"You'll have to re-fuse my spinal tube by hand," David says. He sounds as apologetic as a robot can, which - to Elizabeth's mixed surprise and dismay - is quite apologetic. She figures being able to express remorse is a necessary piece of the programming in a machine like this.

Right now, with his head still sitting on the flight manipulation console, it's easy for her to remember that he's a machine. The rest of him is propped in the pilot's chair; she mostly ignores it.

"When I'm ready, David," she says again, putting the instructions back in the kit.

"Of course, Dr. Shaw."

She's used to there being just a David-head, sitting on the flight manipulation console. It had been odd at first, the first day or so - time is different in space, no sunrise or sunset to mark it, the concept of minutes, of hours, seemingly useless. "I can mark time for you," David-head offers. 

"Thank you, David," she murmurs, almost absently, and leaves the flight room to find another part of the ship to comb through.

It's an archaeologist's delight, and it's massive. Elizabeth is sure that she could spend months only going through it, room after room after room. Most of it she doesn't understand yet, but things are starting to make sense, piece by piece. 

She wishes desperately, almost painfully, that Charlie could be here with her. Someone else who would be as intrigued by the murals, the wide panels of symbols - language, stories - the machinery that clearly does _something_ , although she doesn't yet know what. 

With David confined to the flight room, she takes pictures using her helmet for him to puzzle over. There was a notebook and pen in her pack, so sometimes she sketches. It's soothing. It reminds her of the life she'd had before all of _this_.

She wonders what David thinks about when she's not there.

"What do you do, David, when you're alone?" she asks, one day-shift, the time she's awake.

"Many things, Dr. Shaw," he replies. "I have thousands of hours of media from almost every decade on my memory chips. Often I read a favorite book, or watch a favorite film."

Surprised, she asks, "Robots have favorite movies?"

A smile flickers on his face. "As we have disparate personalities and identities, it would follow that we all enjoy different things."

"I guess I didn't realize."

"That's quite all right. There wasn't much time for conversation before."

"Did you look at the stills I took earlier?" she asks, changing the topic.

"Yes." He begins to explain the meaning of the symbols, while Elizabeth sits with her back against a bulkhead and carefully opens one of the ration packs, listening intently. The more they explore - the more _she_ explores - the ship, the more intrigued she becomes. This ship they'd chosen wasn't made to carry death like the other; instead, there are what look like medical labs, and things that might have been hydroponic bays thousands of years ago.

She interrupts his monologue. "Are you going to kill me if I fix you?"

"No." The reply is instantaneous. To her, at least. It's probably not to him.

"Why not?"

"I would be alone."

Elizabeth eats a piece of freeze-dried fruit, slowly. Then a bland protein cube, letting it dissolve on her tongue. It's quiet for a while. The sound of the ship running is a low, low hum in the background. 

She glances up at the David-head. "Did Weyland create you just for this mission?" 

There's a pause. She's never asked about Weyland before. 

"I must say Mr. Weyland's ultimate motivations remain unclear to me. I know he built me to do the things he could not. He was a ruthless and calculating man, but still human." David's eyes flick to her. "Did you meet him, before the mission?"

"Yes. Once. A videoconference."

His voice seems wistful as he says, "He grew old."

"That's what humans do," Elizabeth replies, and she feels almost sad for him.

In the next room she excavates there's a huge metal container. Carefully, she unseals it, and it releases a cloud of dust that smells like algae. It's full of green cubes. She looks down at the neat rows for a moment, then carries a handful of the squares back to the flight room. David's eyes are flickering behind closed lids; he's watching a movie. He opens them as she comes close. 

"I found these. What do you think they are?" She holds one up for him to see. "The surface is powdery."

"Put a bit of it on my tongue, if you don't mind."

Elizabeth thinks it should be creepy, doing that, but she's done much worse things in the last seven days. She crumbles the corner of a cube onto David's outstretched tongue. Under the green stuff, there's a round bubble of something. She pierces it with the tip of a screwdriver and drips out some of the liquid inside for David as well.

"The liquid is water," he says after a few seconds. "The powder - algae, of some sort. Not spirulina, but something very close. You can eat them."

It's a relief, having another food source beyond her dwindling stack of rations. And _water_. She puts one in her mouth. The algae is dry and grassy-tasting, but the bubble of water dissolves on her tongue and washes the powderiness of it away. 

"If you fix me, I can help you look for more," David says.

Elizabeth figures it's time, and he's right. He can help. She eats the rest of the cubes she'd brought up, then gets the toolkit. "You'll tell me what to do?" she asks hesitantly, unzipping it. She takes out the manual and unfolds it. 

"Of course. You'll need that scissors first, to cut away the jagged edges, on both sides."

"Just trim it?"

"Yes. That will make it easier for you to reach the wires."

His eyes flutter as she works. "Does it hurt?" she asks. She brushes away bits of synthetic skin. 

"No." His voice is raspy, more robotic than usual. "I don't mind."


End file.
